


static

by miserablehoney



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:34:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29602527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserablehoney/pseuds/miserablehoney
Summary: Their silence lasted weeks. All the words they couldn’t say just hung in the air, looming over them like a shadow, dampening their moods every time they entered the same room, like static.~(Ringo’s POV)
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Kudos: 29





	static

It was shortly after Love Me Do topped the charts when Ringo noticed. It wasn’t a very obvious affair, no, it started out with them sitting a little closer together. They would be writing songs together, passing a cigarette around. George would light it up, suck on the filter, draw the smoke into his lungs with a harsh inhale, and then exhale, passing it off to Ringo and then so on. John would get up to grab a cup of water, and when he returned, he would plop down a little closer on the love-seat to Paul. Sometimes, Ringo would swear that Paul was looking at John kind of funny, like a bird swooning over a lad, but it would only be a few seconds before Paul would catch Ringo staring, and he’d quickly glance away, like he was a little kid doing something he shouldn’t. 

“Pass the pack over ‘ere, Richie.” George asked, leaning back in his seat. Ringo took a few seconds to even acknowledge that George had asked him. “Ringo?”

Ringo had suddenly come back into reality, forgetting about John and Paul, and they’re idiotic antics. “Oh, yeah, ah course.” Ringo replied, quickly grabbing the pack off of the coffee table and handing it to George. 

“Something’s got Ringo’s head in tha clouds.” John snickered. He was always quick to pull a smug remark. Out of the corner of Ringo’s eyes, he noticed John glance over at Paul, trying to see if Paul smirked or laughed because of his comment. 

“Could say the same with you, Johnny.” Ringo retorted. John’s expression quickly changed. His brows furrowed for a second, before he raised his left one and gave a little sly half-smile. 

“Yeah, thinkin’ about getting ma’ cock wet. Care to help?” John snickered. Paul burst out laughing, the room was suddenly filled with Paul’s melodic laughter and a few chuckles from George. Ringo just rolled his eyes and grabbed a book off the coffee table. 

“Neva’ mind John, reckon we should get plastered tonight.” Ringo sighed. 

“I think that’s a fantastic idea, Richie.” John grinned and ruffled Ringo’s hair, and Ringo sweared that for a second, Paul looked disappointed that John was no longer sitting suspiciously close to him, like his outer thigh missed the warmth of John’s. 

~~~~

Paul was laying on his stomach in the hotel room, face down on the mattress. Ringo had been keeping track of time and Paul had been in that exact position for over half an hour now. He let out a groan. 

“Did ya break your break or summ’?” Ringo asked, looking up from his book. 

“No,” Paul answered, “It’s just really sore. Feels like somebody stepped on my spine.” He groaned again. Ringo was going to take every opportunity granted to drop hints. 

“Oh, well you’re acting like ya got fucked in the arse.” Ringo quipped. 

“Haha, very funny Richie.” Paul rolled his eyes. “Where’s John and George?” 

“They ran out for a bit, maybe when they get back John will massage ya back.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paul asked, sitting up. His lips slightly parted in confusion. 

“Y’know, cause you two are such good friends.” Ringo retorted, keeping his eyes on his book. 

“Oh, yeah, maybe.” Paul replied sheepishly. He went back into his original position, and exactly four minutes later, the peaceful atmosphere was disrupted by the sound of the hotel door unlatching. Paul perked up a bit, and stretched back out on the bed. 

“We’re back lads, Princess Paulie, did you miss me?” John joked, jumping on the bed while trampling Paul in the process. 

“Ow! John, you fuckin’ cunt.” Paul laughed, grabbing a pillow and smacking John in the face with it. 

“Aye, surely I deserve a little more respect then that?” John laughed, slapping Paul with a pillow back. Paul laid back down on his stomach. 

“Nope, you gotta earn my respect.” Paul teased, fluttering his eyelashes. Ringo thought he looked like a girl. 

“Ahh, I see what you want.” John started. “You want a back rub from yours truly.” Paul said nothing, but when John started massaging his palms into Paul’s back, he let out a content sigh. He was almost purring like a cat under John’s spell. 

~~

It’s late at night, the band had a two day layover in New York and they had already played the show. The label had somehow managed to get them a two room suite, with two single beds in each room, both of the rooms were connected, only separated by a door. John, had of course claimed sleeping with Paul before anybody else could. 

“It’s better for the two handsome Beatles to stay together, y’know, to even it out.” John had quipped earlier. 

His reasoning hadn’t made sense but Ringo was used to rooming with George, and they had a lot of fun together, so they never really minded. However, after the show, George had chatted up a girl, probably in her early twenties with platinum hair, and Ringo was positive that’s where George was staying for the night. It was annoying, sure, but George always put chasing tail before band duties. 

“That fucker, leaving me alone..” Ringo muttered while pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He brought the glass up to his lips, but before the fiery liquid had entered his mouth, some hushed whispers could be heard from John and Paul’s room. Ringo knew better then to snoop, but he badly wanted to confirm his suspicions so he could finally take his mind off the subject. He set his glass down on the counter, and tip-toed across the carpeted floor. He pressed his ears up against the door, he almost felt like an undercover agent, except he was busting two homosexuals instead.

Some of the words were infallible. It was like a radio breaking up. Static.

“What do you not understand about what I said.?” Ringo heard Paul hush. He sounded annoyed, Ringo didn’t blame him, as much as he loved John, he wouldn’t want to spend 24 hours a day with the lad. 

“We’ve been at this for months and I just need to know what we are Paulie..” Ringo’s suspicions had been confirmed but he wasn’t ready to give it a rest yet. 

“You know what this will do to the band.” Paul sighed. Ringo’s heart kind of dropped. In a way, he felt kind of bad for the both of them. 

“I don’t care what happens. I only wanna be with you.” He could hear John pleading, he imagined John on his knees as if Paul was some kind of god. He had never heard John beg before. 

“Never, you know what happens to lads like us.”

“You’re just ashamed of me, aren’t you Paulie?” He could hear John sneering. Ringo hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath. He exhaled harshly. 

“Of course no-“ John cut him off. 

“Then why Paul? I don’t fucking get it.” Ringo didn’t even need to press his ear up against the door to hear anymore. “You think you’re too good for me. Perfect Paulie can’t be seen as a queer.” John spat. 

“Stop it John..” Paul warned. 

“No, don’t fucking tell me what to do when I started this band. I own your arse, I made you!” He was screaming now. Ringo gulped. He wasn’t sure if he should intervene, he didn’t want Paul and John to end up in another brawl, it always got bloody. 

“You don’t own me! You’re shit at writing your own melodies and you know it.”

“You only write what ladies want to hear. Your only asset is being pretty. I can take that away real fuckin quick McCartney, don’t test me.” 

“You’re such a faggot, Lennon.” 

What Ringo heard next sounded like the crack of a whip, he flinched. He could hear something hit the floor and presumably shatter. Ringo backed away from the door, it was too late to intervene now. He heard a yelp, a body hit the floor, the scrap had become intemperate, and Ringo zoned out. It became background noise, he wished more then ever that George was here right now, maybe he could’ve diffused the fight. Then, silence. 

“Go fuckin sleep with Ringo you slag,” He could hear John spit. “See if he can give you what I can’t.” Ringo took that as his cue to scramble into his bed. Mere seconds later, there was a knock on his door. He opened it, peering inside he could see John was nowhere in sight but there was glass everywhere, they must’ve shattered the lamp. He feigned ignorance.

“Rough night?” He asked. Paul was a sight to behold. His nose and bottom lip had been mangled beyond recognition, crimson trickled in waterfalls down his face, and he walked with an obvious limp that he didn’t have just hours prior. Ringo could tell Paul was going to have raccoon eyes in the morning. 

“Obviously..” Paul snapped. His face softened. “Do you and George care if I crash here tonight.?” 

“George is out gettin laid, you can have his bed, just go take a shower.” 

Yet again, there was static. The water from the bathroom hitting the floor of the shower like a heavy rainstorm changed the ambience. There was a sickly feel to the room, only characterized by the silence humming nonstop. Ringo perched on the edge of his bed, he was positive that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. He barely noticed when Paul had gotten out of the shower, it was only when his breath hitched as he struggled into George’s bed that the younger boy had caught his attention. 

“Do you wanna talk about anything.?” The words rolled off of Ringo’s tongue cautiously, like they were the vinegar to Paul’s baking soda. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Paul riposted.

“I don’t know, maybe we could talk about why you look like you got in a fist fight with a bear.” Ringo retorted. Paul was silent for a few seconds, like he was trying to process what Ringo had just said. 

“We got in a little.. altercation. Over a girl.” Paul mumbled, staring at the wall behind Ringo. 

“Don’t lie to me Paul. I heard everything.” 

“Well.. we kind of have been sleeping together a bit.” Paul admitted. His face was red, he looked like he was about to cry. 

Static. 

“Do you.. love him?” 

“I’m not sure how to answer that.” Paul sighed. He rubbed his temples, his gaze wouldn’t meet Ringo’s. 

Ringo didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

~~~~

Their silence lasted weeks. All the words they couldn’t say just hung in the air, looming over them like a shadow, dampening their moods every time they entered the same room, like static. George had insisted that they go out to a bar for the night, he was probably hoping that some alcohol would fix the tension. When they arrived at the bar, it was obvious to both George and Ringo that Paul and John would rather be anywhere else. Their eyes darted frantically around the bustling room, refusing to even briefly make eye contact. Ringo wanted to roll his eyes; this was becoming childish. 

“Aight lads, maybe we should split up. Paul, you’re coming with me.” George declared, grabbing Paul’s wrist and heading towards the back, their features only visible by neon lights. John put on a superficial grin. 

“Well Rings, guess yer stuck with me.” John grinned, stealing a seat at the bar. After ordering a white russian for himself and a scotch on the rocks for Ringo, he swivelled around in the barstool, scanning the room. There were tons of birds wearing tight dresses and mini skirts, but none were catching John’s attention. Ringo had a feeling John would be sleeping alone again tonight. 

“Let’s get a booth, it’s too crowded here.” Ringo suggested, grabbing his drink and leading John through the congested room. They sat in the back, alone; completely isolated from the carefree attitude of everybody. It was the kind of tranquility that was beginning to become foreign to them. John sat morose, he was almost mute, giving one worded, brief responses as Ringo was telling stories. He would take a sip of his drink, and then make deadpan eye contact. 

“John? Are you alright? You’ve barely said a word.” Ringo inquired, sipping his scotch. It burned his throat going down, smouldering his jugular, but his heart sank. Again, the silence became static. He felt uncomfortable, he loosened his tie and slunk back into the red leather seat. Finally, John’s lips parted. 

“Yes, I’m,” John paused. “I’m doing alright.” Ringo raised his eyebrow. “I’m just really tired.” 

“Do you love him?” The question alone could cut glass. 

John’s expression suddenly shifted. “How’d you know?” 

“Paul told me.” Ringo apprised. 

“Ahh.” Static. “I do.” 

“Does he love you back?”

Static. 

“I don’t think so.” John sighed. Ringo opened his mouth to respond but John continued. “I don’t know what to do, Richie. I really don’t.” A response had escaped Ringo, the only solace he could offer was buying John another drink. 

~~

It had been an hour and a half since Paul and George had ran off, and John was in about seven white russians deep, possibly more, possibly less. Ringo had already had his fair share of alcohol, and was in the weird space between tipsy and wasted. Their voices slurred together, and their laughter danced around. This night had served in good favour, but when Paul and and a tall blonde boy with toned arms and a strong jaw sat in a booth in John’s field of vision across the room, John only saw red. He forced himself up, balancing on his heels, and started pushing his way through the crowd of people blocking his way. Ringo hastily followed, staying two meters back as to avoid getting involved. John slammed his hands down on the table.

“Sooo Paulie. This is what yer doing behind ma back.” His words slurred. The blonde boy’s grip around Paul’s waist tightened. 

“I’m not doing anything behind your back,” Paul started, smirking. “I’m doing it in front of your face.” He tilted his head towards the boy, and he planted a kiss on Paul’s chapped lips, still slit from weeks prior. 

“Yer a fuckin’ whore, y’know that McCartney?” John snarled. He reached across the table and grabbed the blonde guy’s collar. 

“If ya know what’s best for ya, you’ll get the fuck outta here.” John slurred. 

The guy glared, and stood up, towering over John. “I don’t think I will.” 

John’s fist was moving at lightning speed towards the guy’s face, and in a fraction of a second, a blink of an eye, the guy had blood pouring down his face. It broke out too quickly, and John only ceased for a second when he got a fist in his mouth. He raised his arm, but Paul had jumped up and wrapped his bony arm’s around John’s bicep. 

“Lenny, stop. Please.” He begged. His doe eyes were open wide, it looked like there were tears gathering in Paul’s waterline. John stumbled back, before being whisked away from the booth and tumbling out the back door. Ringo abandoned the blonde boy, who was desperately trying to stop the bleeding from his nose, and followed the pair outside the door. He hesitated, before cracking the door a bit so he could hear what they were saying. He knelt down, and peered through the crack in the door. A few meters down, he could see Paul and John standing at the end of an alley. Shadows were casted across their faces, and the moonlight highlighted the bridge of John’s nose. 

“I just don’t understand Paul.. You know I’m in love with you, right? Does that mean nothing to you?” Paul took a few steps back, and buried his face in his hands. 

“I’m really sorry John.. I was just.. mad. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me in that hotel room. I wanted to hit you where it hurt the most.” 

John sighed. “You did a bloody good job of that.” 

“It’s just...” Paul stopped. He uncovered his face and slinked down the wall and crossed his legs. He took a cigarette out of the pack resting in his pocket. “Sometimes I get scared, y’know.? It’s like.. I have something I want to show the world but I can’t.” 

John bent down so his eyes were levelled with Paul’s. “Well why can’t you?” 

Paul wiped his cheek. Ringo couldn’t see it from where he was sitting but he assumed Paul had begun to cry. “You know what happens to lads like us. I shouldn’t have messed around with that guy. I went too far.” 

“Do you love me, Paulie?” Vulnerability was something John meant to keep behind closed doors. 

“I really do. Sometimes I feel like I like ya a bit too much.” 

John didn’t respond, he just got down on his knees and embraced Paul. Ringo figured now was probably a good time for him to cab back to the room. The air escaping from the crack in the door created static; made up of broken promises and forbidden love lingering in the air. 

~~~~~

Life was back to normal for Ringo, at least, until another fight between John and Paul would break out. Everything just became childlike giggles, playful bantering and knowing glances, completely unbeknownst to George. Ringo wondered if whatever was going on between John and Paul would ever work out. He doubted it would. John was too violent; outrageous, a compass guided by emotion, and Paul was tactical, obsessed with self image and reputation, rotting at the core with vanity. Ringo honestly hoped they’d end up together. He picked up a book and turned to the page he had left off on. The static returned, this time made up of the unlikely and unknown. 

Static.


End file.
